


Court Games

by NotJustFeet



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Drugged Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotJustFeet/pseuds/NotJustFeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Steve Rogers of House America must find, and duel The Iron Man, in order to save the kidnapped Prince Tony of House Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Court Games

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ this post](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=15394308#t15394308) at AvengerKink. 
> 
> This story is written from Steve's point of view, and it is how he views things at the time.

I knew it from the moment that I first saw him. I am always told that I am a sensible man, but I have a firm belief in fairy-tales. From the moment my eyes met with those of Prince Stark, I knew that it was love at first sight.

It has been so long that I can't tell you where I first saw him. Back in those times, my days were filled with social events, and outings. It was not what I wanted, but I had my obligations and my duties and I would carry them out.

I remember standing against the wall, just watching the crowds as they moved. Those on the dance floor parted a little, and there he was. I had seen him before, of course, but never quite so elegant. He wore grey that night, tailored to cling to his body in an almost scandalous fashion. The lady on his arm was not one of the social circle, and I admired him for that. I have never been one for the idea of castes and classes. I heard it said that night that he only brought her to scandalise the prudish among us, to make sure that his name was on every tongue. That night, I did not doubt it, but I was certain that there would be other reasons.

I continued to watch as he made the rounds, finding myself fascinated with the movements of his body, his expressive hands, and the way that his smile did not touch his eyes. I wanted to be the one he truly smiled at. He was handsome even in repose, but I was certain that he would be stunning.

Of course, it wasn't the best of manners to stare. I was so concerned with drinking him in with my eyes that I forgot this, and was reminded when my bodyguard tapped me on the shoulder. I am not a man to need a guard, a helpless child who will only cower and hide come danger, but my station demands the certain formalities, and Fury's glare did serve a useful purpose. 

I do not believe that we talked that night, not truthfully. Perhaps the usual vague courtesies escaped our lips, meaningless words and phrases that suited the event, but nothing that told of what we were truly thinking or feeling.

Nor did we talk the next three times that we encountered each other. Each time we would discuss the weather, our hosts, the food, the music, the dancing, or the hunt. It was all so very dull. But how were men of our rank supposed to converse with all those ears around us? 

 

\--------------------------

 

I had no plans for the morning. I was sitting in the solar, enjoying the peace of the morning, when my butler informed me that there was a man in some distress wishing to see me.

You must understand at this point that I still had no real acquaintance with Prince Stark other than a few fleeting contacts. But nevertheless, I still believed that I loved him, and that it was love at first sight. To that end, I had done my research into his household, his life and his means. And so when my butler ushered the man into the solar, I knew who he was.

He was distressed, but not overly so. There was a tightness about his eyes that suggested anger, and something about his stance that suggested distaste. Of course, at the time I thought that the distaste was due to having to come to another for help.

He bowed formally to me. "Prince Rogers," he said.

This was Chancellor Jarvis, close friend to Prince Stark, and almost a father figure to the man. It was not the custom back then to cross another’s borders lightly, and so I knew that whatever brought him here without the pomp and ceremony of his high office was serious.

"Please, be seated."

You must understand, I am recreating this conversation as best I can from memory. I wish these memoirs to be as exact as possible, and to admit my own shortcomings is part of that.

When Jarvis was seated and settled, served with wine, I decided to skip the usual pleasantries, and move straight into his business with me.

"How may the house of America be of assistance to the house of Stark?" I opened formally.

Everything that I had heard or learned about this man suggested that he was as unflappable as my own Chancellor. To see him turn red was an unexpected thing.

"Your Highness, I do not know how to begin to explain what brings me here, without your calling my intelligence into question."

I softened my tone a little, setting aside my princely mantle. In truth, I was growing worried here.

"Please, Chancellor,"

He took a deep breath. "For some time now in our kingdom, there have been rumours among the villagers, whispers of something in the deepest forest. Someone, or something. There have been no firm sightings, nothing to confirm whether it is man or beast. Until now."

This was just an internal matter then, and this just a courtesy visit. Jarvis went on.

"Until two days ago. Two days ago, a man of armor walked out of the forest. None could stand before him. He vanquished all who tried to take a stand, and came straight to the castle. We were helpless before him, even our most valiant warriors had to yield to his might. Our Prince was taken by him, and carried back towards the forest."

I remember the rage starting to flow through me, a warm fire uncurling in my veins. There was not just the one reason for reacting though. Yes, I considered myself to be in love with Prince Stark, and mine was the righteous anger of a consort. However, for a Prince to be stolen away boded ill for the rest of us. This would be a dangerous precedent.

"And you wish the aid of my kingdom to return your Prince to his rightful place?" I asked.

"No, your highness," Jarvis replied. "We beseech your direct aid. Before he retreated into the forest, the armored man issued a challenge, for one on one combat, for our Prince. He will not free his future consort, unless vanquished by a stronger warrior. And all know that you are the strongest warrior in the kingdoms."

I took the praise modestly as was right and proper. I did not consider myself to be the best, but I knew what I was capable of. This quest was mine. Prince Stark would be returned to his castle, safe and unharmed, and there was nothing that I would let stand in my way. 

My household were well trained. Fury glared, but did not disobey when I ordered him to gather together a squadron and escort the Chancellor back to the castle. My own horse was saddled and ready for me when I returned from donning my armor.

I would not go forth on this quest in darkness, but displaying my blazon and colors proudly. The white star on my shield blazed proudly in the light of the sun as we cantered from my castle and onto the plains.

It was not a long ride to the border, and the guards there admitted me without question. I stayed the night in a woodcutters hut, and the man made me welcome. He was unable to tell me more of the foe I must face, but I thanked him gratefully for his food and his shelter.

The sun was barely over the horizon when I left my shelter of the night, and rode under the branches of that forbidding forest. In truth, I knew not where to look. Chancellor Jarvis had only been able to tell me in the vaguest of terms where to expect the man of armor to be, and it was to there I guided my horse.

Other horses would have spooked, but stout-hearted Peggy had been my steed through thick and thin, and she forged bravely ahead through the foreboding trunks.

At that time I had no plan of attack in my mind. One would present itself as soon as I came across this miscreant and his surroundings, of that I had no doubt.

Soon we were deeper into the forest, and I received my first sign that the path I was on was the right on. Hanging, torn and tattered from a branch was a variant of the gaudy cape that I had seen Prince Stark wearing in all our previous meetings. It was the deep burgundy red of his house, edged in golden trim, and it fluttered from the branch like a banner, calling me onwards to war.

The sun was bright as we broke out of the trees and into a meadow. Peggy snorted and danced on the spot as I waited for my vision to clear. I knew then that I had found him. 

He was standing in the centre of the grassy sward, hands crossed lightly on the pommel of his sword, which he had driven into the grass. A shield rested against his metal shod leg, the surface reflective, devoid of all markings.

His metal skin was splashed in gaudy shades of red and yellow, aping the colors of house Stark, without their dignity. His face was concealed beneath a visor. He was not a tall being, but his bearing was upright and his stance proud.

"I am Iron Man," he said in a strong voice. Each word was muted by the iron that encased him. He had no accent to identify him, each word flat in its tone. 

"I am Prince Rogers, and I come to make challenge to you. Release the Prince Stark immediately, and I shall have no further quarrel with you."

Perhaps it was foolish of me to try and reason with him, but I do not like to take to the field unless I must. If by my words and reputation I could dissuade him from his path, then that is what I would do.

His eyeless metal face looked at me. I could not tell if he was weighing my offer or simply waiting for a sign. With a movement that was not quite human, he pulled his sword from the grass, and hefted his shield onto his other arm.

"I will not release him unless you can best me in combat. All that have tried have yielded against my might. Turn back now, brave warrior, or find your reputation tattering like a cloak in the wind."

Dear reader, the lines had been drawn then. I could not back down, and nor would I do so. I dismounted and advanced as he advanced, drawing my own sword from its sheath.

I recall still the curious gleam of his weapon. Under the sunlight, it shone blue, but not a still blue. Ripples in the metal made the sword appear underwater, ever changing shades dappling its surface. 

While I do not like to tell tales of combat, lest there are those who think me crass, for the sake of completeness, here follows the tale of that fight.

We circled each other, him and I, trying to take the measure of each other. He was not light on his feet, each circling step trampling down the grassy field, and leaving a solid imprint into the dirt beneath. I circled him as well, watching his shoulders for the sign of the first blow. 

When he made his move, I made mine, and our blades clashed together between us with a grand ringing. We hammered at each other, him and I. Neither of us used our true strength, still gauging, still testing. To any observer, this was not the usual formal combat fit only for tourneys. This was a frenzied hacking and slashing.

I responded only to him, acting on the defensive. My plan was to wait him out, let him grow tired, and wait for him to make a misstep. Others in my place might not have been so patient, and by the way that the Iron Man tilted his head, it was a confusing tactic.

"So you do not want Prince Stark as much as it might seem?" he queried, a powerful overhand swing deflected by my shield.

I did not reply. I did not and still do not find it seemly to engage in discourse in the midst of battle. It detracts from concentration.

"You are a poor fighter," and this was a thrust that I easily side-stepped.

"Yield now," and he stepped back for a moment.

There was no notion in my mind of yielding, but I knew that it was in his. His blows had not scratched me, and I did not appeared to be intimidated by him. My helm shielded my eyes, and I had long since mastered the art of keeping a straight face.

I will not recount the blows that followed, the intricate dance that we performed. I was on the attack now, having taking his measure. I say this with no arrogance, but I knew that I could best him.

I would not say that he was an easy opponent. There are many of my peers that would have fallen to him. Finally though, he was on his knees before me, and my blade was aimed at his throat. From this range, and with my strength, it would pierce his armor and steal his life. 

He knew this too.

"I yield, sir," he told me in that same emotionless voice, letting his sword fall from his fingers. "The field is yours."

I stepped back, and let my shield fall as I picked up his sword.

"Prince Stark lies not far from here, to the east. There is a little trail. Follow it and it will take you to my home. He lies within."

"You are strangely forthcoming," I told him. I did not trust him fully, though he had comported himself bravely, and as a knight should.

"You have taken the field, and have defeated me. By the rules that I have set, you have won, and now you must claim your prize."

"Claim my prize?"

For a moment, I fancied I heard a soft laugh beneath that helm.

"Prince Stark was not willing in his capture. A witchs brew removed his desire to struggle. He only wishes to serve now, in any way that he can."

I will confess here, to this forgiving page, that at that moment, I wished nothing more than to thrust my sword home into his throat and watch the bright blood bloom. He had taken away the free will of one of the best of men that I knew, and reduced him to a plaything.

"This potion will not wear off in any usual way," the rogue went on to say. 

"I will remove it," and somehow I believed that I would find a way.

There was silence in the clearing then, as my hand trembled on the sword hilt. 

"You must love him, very much," the rogue said softly. I could not tell if it was a comment, or an instruction, but I let it pass. Peggy came to my whistle, and stood beside me, stomping a fore hoof as I secured the villains blade to my saddle.

"I bid you farewell, sir knight," the rogue said. His words were a goodbye, and I turned back to him. It is hard to describe what I saw then. There was a presence, a vitality about the Iron Man, which was now gone. The eyeless face has lost its sparkle. The posture sagged, and the head dropped. It seemed as though there was no life left within.

I waited. There was nothing. I touched my gauntlet to the shoulder of the armor. There was nothing. I pushed a little, and the armor tipped to one side. 

Whatever this was, it was no more. That feeling, that thought was so strong in me, that I did not question it.

I would not remove the visor. I did not need to see what was beneath, and in truth I feared that I would find nothing. I would leave the armor where it lay, as a memorial to a brave warrior. Let the Starks remove it if they would.

My path to the east was clear, and as I remounted, I saw the path that I must take. Prince Stark awaited. 

To those who read these words, I am certain that they seem like a fairytale, a story told to entertain and nothing more. Even as I set ink to paper I wonder to myself. Perhaps there is more truth to the old stories than was thought.

The track was long and winding, but I did not dare to leave it in search of a straighter path. For good or for ill this was the route the Iron Man had set me on, and thus I would follow it.

I recall the branches twining overhead, forming a tangled canopy that let only a little light through. I rode in shadow and shade, the hoofbeats of Peggy muffled by the foliage underfoot.

I did not risk more than a brisk walk despite the urgency that I felt. 

Finally though, the track came to an end and I came into sight of a stone cottage. It was a simple place though well and sturdily built. No smoke rose from the chimney, and the door was ajar. I dismounted and let the reins trail loose. I knew Peggy would not wander far.

Metal rubbed against metal as I stepped up to the door, and there was a moan from inside. 

The interior of the cottage was shadowy, but I still remember seeing Prince Stark laid out on the bed. He wore nothing but a plain white shirt that clung to his figure. He lay on a bed set into the corner, and twisted against the single rope that bound one wrist to the headboard.

The look in his eyes, ah, I am glad to have never seen that look again. It was not the look of a Prince, it was not even the look of the man that I considered to be my one true love. There was nothing of him in that gaze, nothing but heedless want was contained therein.

As he saw me, he arched up in his restraint, and licked his lips.

"Please, release me. I only wish to serve you," he said softly, tugging again at the rope. My heart ached in my chest for him, to see him devoid of his will, but I loosened the rope anyway.

He lay still as I let the rope drop to the floor. "I did not release myself, will you let me serve you now?" he asked.

"No, Prince Stark. I am here to return you to your family," I told him. 

He could not even tell who I was in his addled state, and I forced myself to move from beside him as he reached for me. I would not take advantage of him in this state. It was not honourable.

"Please, master," he breathed to me.

Despite myself, I could not help but respond to the naked desperation in his plea, but not in the way that the poor man hoped for, I am sure.

"Tony!" and I finally allowed myself to use his first name. "Tony, you can fight this. You are one of the best of men, and no foul potion should cloud your wits. Fight, please."

His eyes slid shut as he wriggled against the sheets, body curving sinuously. Suddenly, he snapped taut, and when his eyes opened again, there was recognition. His teeth gritted as his eyes met mine.

"Prince Rogers, I am sorry..." and his voice trailed off as he twisted again as if in pain. "Sorry to meet you in these circumstances, ahhh!"

He shook again, and I could not help but reach out and touch his shoulder as his body was wracked with pain. 

"I wanted to meet you in better circumstances," he said, panting a little after the spasm had passed.

I remember thinking at the time that he was the bravest of men, talking so casually, so cooly, even as errant shivers wracked his frame. Resisting the brew was obviously painful to him. 

"I will see you safely home," I told him. "Have faith in me, sir."

"I have faith in you, sir," he said, and I felt warmth within me at that admission. "But I fear..."

His sentence trailed off as he spasmed once more, curling into a tight ball.

"Speak plainly, Tony, I cannot bear to see you in this pain," I told him as I sat on the bed, feeling it creak under my armored weight. 

A minute or two passed before he was able to uncurl, and there was anger in his eyes, anger at his own weakness. "I have admired you from afar, and wanted you from afar," he said plainly, and I felt my heart turn over. 

Could it be that Prince Stark had also felt the kiss of true love?

"To break the spell, you must claim me as your own. The Iron Man was clear about this when he gloated over me."

"I cannot!" I protested. It was nothing short of force to do this, and in such circumstances.

"Though I wish it were otherwise, you must. Please, Steve," and the way that he said my name nearly washed away all doubts. "I cannot tolerate this pain much more, I cannot keep resisting the spell. I give you permission if you need it, I ask you as a friend."

He started to shudder again, and gasped out the last words.

"Make love to me. I have wanted you in silence for so long. Help me now in this time of need."

I could not do otherwise, could I? 

I could not sit there and watch him suffer more. Not when I had the means to alleviate his suffering at hand. His eyes fluttered shut again, and I rose, beginning to slid my armor off.

It is a cumbersome business without a squire, but I had practise, and each piece fell to the ground. Prince Stark, Tony, had stopped shuddering now, and his eyes peeped out from beneath his lashes, his chest rising and falling. His lips twitched in what might have been a smile before the spell took him under again.

As soon as the armor was free, Tony moved towards me, his fingers burrowing under my underclothes and brushing against my skin. The sensation was electric, and he let out a whimper. 

He did not say anything, only pressed in closer and tighter.

I tilted his head up towards me, and saw that his gaze was clear, and that he knew me again. His love for me shone bright, and I wondered how I had not seen it before. The last of my hesitations vanished under the beam of that blinding light, and I bent my head to kiss him.

His lips were warm against mine, and our mouths met in a lazy dance of heat and sweetness, drowning in each other. This was my darkest secret dreaming coming to life before me, as his fingers touched my skin.

Soon I was bare, and could feel the softness of his shirt rubbing against my skin as I moved to lie beside him in the bed. He touched me, his fingertips trailing over my skin, marking the outline of every muscle, every dip and curve. 

It was an electric sensation that coursed through me, and I deepened the kiss, teasing his mouth open with my tongue.

He made a noise high in the back of his throat, a needy whine, and I felt the sharp prick of his fingernails on my flanks. I could almost feel the spell beginning to break under my touch.

He traced my bare skin, I traced his through the fabric of his shirt. We lay close together, chest to chest, letting the pleasure within us build. Our kisses were light, butterfly like, and I caressed his brow and cheeks with the softest flutter. 

If this was to be done, as indeed it must, it would be done with all the love that I felt for him. 

His skin was as soft and supple as satin, warm under my fingers. We moved together as one, touching, testing.

I remember the noises he made, breathy little moans and purrs, whispers of my name. He tasted of sweat and of metal and it was sweet against my tongue as I curled it around him, laving every inch of his bare skin.

He touched me, sparks crackling wherever his fingers landed. He teased, he tantalised, making rising waves of pleasure wash back and forth through me.

He was warm and tight around my hand, slick inside already. Amidst the pleasure I noted that the Iron Man had him well prepared.

"Please," Tony said.

There was nothing but him in those eyes as I slid home slowly, gently. He arced against me and the warmth enveloped me. It was love, desire, tenderness and affection as we moved together. He rocked back onto me with every thrust, his pleasure echoing around the chamber. 

We both wanted this, wanted each other, and our pleasure spiralled higher together, warm and soft and safe. This was love, true love.

He came first, shuddering and crying my name. His tension spurred me over the edge and my vision turned white as his utterly willing body engulfed me. 

I cannot recall how long we lay there, entwined with each other.

"The spell is broken," he finally said. "I am free."

"I am glad," I told him.

Between us now was no secrets, I was sure then.

"Do you regret?" he asked, and I wished that I could see his face at that moment, to read his thoughts in his eyes.

"No," I told him honestly. "I have seen you as my true love, my soul mate for so long. There is no regret to being wanted, as much as I have wanted."

He relaxed against me, and we fell asleep.

 

\-------------------

 

The ice of our formality had been broken, and we were soon conversing as old friends as Peggy carried us out of those woods. He was everything I had thought he would be, and I knew that my instinct had been right. 

Some years late, and my instincts are still proven true. He is my husband and consort, and I am his. Our castle stands on the former boundary between our kingdoms.

But before I close this chapter of my account, and move on, there is one thing that I must confess. I have not yet told Tony. I do not begrudge him his charade, his deception. I am glad that he made the first move. He gave me a fairytale as he gave me himself and I love him all the more for it.

He was the Iron Man, able to hold his own against me. There was no potion or spell, only his own desire. I think part of me knew from the moment I faced that armor across the clearing, but it did not come clear to me till days later. 

Others may think it strange that I love him the more for his deception of me. I care not what they think.

I am in love, and content.


End file.
